Follett finally completed the sequel to his evergreen historical novel, The Pillars of the Earth, and although I was compelled by the story enough to read all 1024 pages in a week, I was saddened at how poorly the book compares with its predecessor.

It is interesting to consider the nearly 20 years between the first book and this sequel. Many things have changed in our culture since then, leading Follett to inject even more egregious anachronisms into this book than the first. For example, the characters at one point fret over the self-esteem of a teenage girl. There are many further examples but I will spare you.

More telling is the apparent shift Follett has undergone in what he believes we want to read about. For example, the first book avoided homosexuality, despite the many opportunities to explore it in a monastery. The second, now twenty years deeper into the gay rights movement, explores gay relationships with a frank openness more consistent with San Francisco circa 2000 than the Britain of the 1300s.

I am most personally disappointed that the author did not again craft a thoughtful and multi-dimensional portrayal of a man of faith. The character of Prior Philip stands as the hallmark achievement of the first novel. Prior Philip was a man filled with the desire to do what is right by God and by his fellowmen but sometimes unable to know what would be right and what cost was worth bearing to do it. This is my personal experience of what most spiritual leaders are like.

In contrast, the religious figures in the sequel are all one-dimensional sycophants or toadies, ingratiating themselves with higher ups for their own personal gratification, betraying their own principles regularly, and considering faith a stepping stone rather than an end in itself.

The one sympathetic, intelligent, and thoughtful religious character is a woman who is technically an athiest, and only joined a convent to avoid being tried as a witch. She is consistently smarter and more capable than all other religious figures and her athiesm is continually cited as the engine behind her industriousness and her unique interpersonal gifts.

I've met athiests like that, but I've also met religious people like that and you'd think that a novel that spans fifty years of religious life in a town where all activity centers on a cathedral might include even one intelligent, sincere devout person? Just one?

The differences between these two books tells us much about ourselves and the kinds of things authors and editors believe we want to read. I wonder what a third book, written 20 years from now, would say about us?